F&ed Up
by Millie
Summary: Sharon Raydor is not as put together as she appears. Dark, graphic material
1. Chapter 1

**This is not a happy story. I am placing this warning here because there are some dark themes, so be prepared. Don't say I didn't warn you! But please enjoy...**

Chapter 1

Sharon Raydor could feel the hint of a headache coming on in the back of her forehead.

She wished she could control the wave of arousal that tightened her chest every time Brenda Leigh's weary brown eyes looked in to her own. And each time their eyes met, Sharon's eyes darted downwards, quickly reminding herself why they were seated across from one another in her office.

Brenda's hand was shaking. She was unnerved, and rightfully should be. It'd been a long day. She hadn't anticipated shooting anyone.

Sharon took a deep breath and glanced down at the half complete form. She tapped her pen against the desk before pushing herself back in her seat. "Chief," Sharon swallowed.

Brenda distractedly nodded. "I know, Capt'n."

Sharon let the pen twirl around in her fingers. She could actually go for a cigarette at this point. It was nearing one in the morning. She was exhausted and she did not like the fact that Brenda Leigh Johnson was seated in her office due to a force investigation and not to sort through the mess they'd gotten themselves in to.

"Can we get this wrapped up?" Sharon tapped the pen against the desk, avoiding eye contact with the Deputy Chief.

"Certainly, Capt'n." Brenda took a deep breath.

"Brenda Leigh, are you okay?" Fritz appeared in the doorway of Sharon's office. He swooped in and wrapped his arms around his shaken wife; a gesture Sharon had been fighting against attempting herself. She intently looked down at the investigation paperwork, anywhere but at Brenda wrapped warmly in her husband's loving arms.

Sharon felt queasy. "Agent Howard, would you mind?"

"Would you mind, Captain? My wife was almost killed; I think I have every right to console her."

Sharon set her jaw. Instead of dignifying him with a response, she waved a hand and dropped her pen on her desk. Christ, she wasn't going to get out of the office until three.

…

When Sharon stepped inside of her California bungalow, she caught a whiff of cigarette smoke. Her eyes slid closed, her jaw clenched, and she kicked off her heels. Slamming her purse on the ground and sliding out of her blazer, Sharon stepped in to her kitchen, unsurprised to find _him_ standing there, leaning up against the counter as if it was so natural for him to be there.

He took a swig of his beer, his eyes setting in to hers as she walked towards him. She took the burning cigarette from his fingers and took a long drag before moving past him.

"I thought you were never coming home." He turned to lean up against the island counter.

"I'm surprised you're still here." Sharon pulled a bottle of whiskey from a cabinet and took down a tumbler. She poured herself a generous portion and threw back a huge gulp before taking another drag of the cigarette.

"You're becoming a lush."

"You drove me to it." Sharon narrowed her eyes at the man in her kitchen, watching as he lit up another cigarette and offered Sharon an ashtray he'd dragged out from its hiding place. She tapped off the ashes from the nearly finished cigarette before picking up the whiskey bottle and moving towards her living room. "I don't like when you smoke inside." She sighed, settling down on the couch. Her legs fell open; no need for propriety in a skirt while in her own home.

"I don't like when you come home late." He'd followed her in to the living room and settled on the coffee table in front of her.

"I don't remember asking you to come over tonight, Mitchell." Sharon took the last puff of her cigarette and butted it in the ashtray he held out for her.

He shrugged and took another swig of his beer. His rough hand landed on her knee, his fingers smoothing over her skin.

She nudged him away. "I'm not in the mood." She swallowed back another sip of whiskey.

His hand returned to her leg, this time moving up her thigh, pushing her skirt upwards as his finger grazed the center of her wet panties. "I'd beg to differ."

She hit his hand away.

"Who did that?" He settled back and sipped his beer.

"That's none of your business." Sharon pushed her skirt back down and leaned her head back against the couch.

"Not that superior officer you keep complaining about?" He took another drag of his cigarette and let his fingers trail over her knee again. She hit his hand away again, but he grabbed her wrist.

"Let me go," Sharon hissed, twisting out of his grasp. "And no, she is none of your business."

"She? You fucking dyke." Mitchell snorted.

"I am not even dignifying that with a response." She swallowed down the last of her whiskey and poured another.

"You only cheated on me with women. Why don't you just admit it?"

"You cheated on me with women, what's the difference?" Sharon twisted and got up from the couch. She was exhausted. She needed to go to sleep, but now _he_ was here. She retrieved the pack of cigarettes from the kitchen, lighting one before returning to the living room.

"The fucking difference, Sharon, is that I'm a man." Mitchell grabbed at Sharon, nearly causing her to spill her tumbler of whiskey.

"You fuck," Sharon cursed, allowing herself to be pulled down on to the couch. She took a puff of her cigarette before Mitchell took it from her. He took another puff before putting it out. "That wasn't even half smoked, you shit," Sharon sighed before Mitchell pulled her in to a rough kiss.

She pushed at him, careful not to spill her drink, and detached him from her lips. "I told you I'm not in the mood."

"Well I am," he pulled her free hand down to his crotch.

"You know, I _really_ wonder why I stayed married to you for as many years as I did." Sharon groaned, setting down the tumbler before undoing Mitchell's jeans.

"Because you loved me." Mitchell easily responded, settling back against the couch as Sharon reached down to grasp his erection. Her hand worked knowingly up and down his girth, wondering why she was even doing this for him at all.

"Go fuck yourself," she retorted, crawling over him until she was kneeling between his legs.

"It looks like you're going to do that for me." He arrogantly thrust himself forward. Her hand squeezed his penis and he winced, glaring down at her. "You fucking bitch, don't you ever do that again," his hand was squeezing her wrist just as hard in a matter of seconds.

"Well don't be such an arrogant asshole," she released him and then raised an eyebrow in contempt, daring him to not let her go. The longer it took for him to release her, the longer it would be before she got to taking care of his erection.

He finally pulled her hand back to his penis and dropped it, settling back against the couch. Sharon had long ago stopped wondering why she did the things she did for this man. She supposed it hadn't always been this way, not in the beginning. He'd been a fairly decent guy, perhaps a little rough around the edges, but Sharon Raydor had always admired a good challenge, an imperfect man. She hadn't anticipated she would end up in such a miserable dance with him, this never ending back and forth of pity fucking and fighting.

She took him in to her mouth, licking the tip of his penis at first. She knew exactly how he liked receiving blow jobs, and she supposed she should. After twenty-eight years of marriage – most of it spent platonically living in one another's presence for the children – she had managed to appease him with blow jobs. She mostly hated them, but she did enjoy the feeling of being in control of him, of knowing that if she stopped halfway through he'd get blue balls. As she sucked the tip of his cock, she knew she never would, mainly because she didn't want to cover up the black eye he was certain to give her if she so attempted such a thing.

As she glanced over at her wrist, she realized she would need long sleeves tomorrow to cover the bruises that were already forming on them. He could fuck himself. He had no right to lay a hand on her…yet, she let him.

Her hand and mouth kept a steady rhythm, but her mind began to stray to the only respite she had while administering to him. Breasts. Sharon Raydor loved the supple curve of breasts. She loved to touch them, to suck on taut nipples, to knead the soft skin. It was no wonder she had enjoyed cheating on her ex-husband with women. Women were beautiful.

Mitchell grunted. She knew he was getting close. She applied more force to her motions, letting the tip of his penis glide more roughly in and out, trying not to bite it as she did so. Sometimes she wished she could tear his cock right off.

She could feel Mitchell begin to squirm ever so slightly, and she knew his orgasm was coming. In a matter of seconds she could taste his salty ejaculation in her mouth. She stopped her ministrations and caught his eye. "Aren't you going to swallow?" He glared down at her.

She reached for his beer and spit the cum in to the bottle. "Now zip up and go home." She sneered, pulling herself up.

Mitchell quickly pulled his pants back up and buttoned them, reaching out to grab her, "you fucking cunt."

"I'm not your wife any more, Mitchell, let me go and get the hell out," Sharon pushed him off of her, knowing he'd had more to drink than her. She could still handle him if he got too rough with her.

She nearly stumbled to the table beside the couch and poured herself another glass of whiskey, swallowing it down a bit too quickly.

Mitchell zipped up his pants and moved past her in to the kitchen. He pulled another beer out of the refrigerator – she wondered why she even kept beer for him – and then moved back in to the living room. He collapsed on the couch. Sharon poured herself another drink, but did not drink it so quickly. Instead she took a seat on an armchair and set the tumbler down, reaching for the pack of cigarettes instead. "You're pathetic." She mumbled around the cigarette she'd placed between her lips.

"Why's that?" Mitchell took a swig of his beer and glanced at her.

"You can't even drive home, can you?" She lit the cigarette and leaned back in her seat. A stream of smoke came effortlessly through her lips.

Mitchell just shrugged and leaned back against the couch.

Sharon closed her eyes as tightly as possible, pinching the bridge of her nose with her free hand. She felt disgusting. Tears swelled behind her eyelids, but she kept them at bay. She held them down and tried to drown them out by filling her lungs full of smoke.

What had happened to her? She was becoming a person she hardly recognized.

…

"Hey, are you okay?" Fritz was lying on his back in the pitch black room. His wife had remained painfully quiet since leaving the office. He'd watched her shower, brush her teeth, and then curl up on the bed – as close to the edge as possible. He'd taken this as his cue to not touch her.

Some nights Brenda Leigh didn't want to be touched. Some nights she wanted nothing to do with him. He'd slowly become accustomed to her mood swings. Tonight he'd written the distance off to the traumatic events of the day. He hadn't been on scene when it'd happened, but he'd heard the man had gone down roughly. It hadn't been pretty. And he knew she'd had a gun to her head. He knew she'd once again escaped death by mere seconds. She was shaken, he could appreciate that. He just wished she'd let him in, sometimes. He only wanted to be there for her.

Brenda shifted ever so slightly in the bed but did not reply.

"Honey?" He let his hand cross the invisible barrier she'd created for herself. This did not bode well for him.

Brenda jerked away from him and sat up. She reached angrily for her pillow, "I just…I need some time to myself. All right, Fritzy?" She tried to not sound as angry as she felt.

She knew it wasn't his fault, what she'd done, but she couldn't help feeling angry. Most likely she was angry with herself, but this anger manifested itself as anger towards him. She wished she could make it stop, she wished she could let down her walls and let him in again – like she had been able to do in the beginning of their marriage – but ever since that night… She hadn't been the same.

And she had to wonder why she was thinking about that night when she should be shaken from nearly getting shot. Perhaps this was her avoidance tactic. Instead of breaking down, she was choosing to focus on the night that had opened her eyes and completely changed the way she viewed everything.

"I'm gonna sleep in the livin' room," Brenda sleepily drawled, her skin burning from where her husband had touched her. She wished she didn't feel so downright disgusting around him. She did love him; she just couldn't stand being near him right now.

Fritz rolled back on the bed and exhaled loudly in frustration. He watched as his wife carried her pillow in to the other room, mad because though he knew she definitely wouldn't be up for sex that evening, he still had an erection. He wished he had better control sometimes, but he couldn't help the fact that he needed sex. He craved intimacy with her and the longer they went without it, the more he wanted it.

Realizing what he would have to resort to, Fritz reached for Brenda's lotion on the bedside table.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

She could actually see the bullet packed in to the barrel of the gun. She could hear shouting all around her, the cacophony of sirens whirring in the background. It was all a huge blur, her tunnel vision only allowing her to focus on that bullet sitting dangerously inside the gun. Over all the noise she could hear the click of the safety, the cocking of the trigger. She watched, frozen to the spot as the bullet shot out of the barrel. It soared through the air, on a direct course for her head.

"No!" Brenda shot straight up, leaning forward, clutching at her head. "No, no, no." She felt tears sliding down her cheeks.

"Brenda?" Fritz was stumbling sleepily through the kitchen. "Brenda, are you okay?"

Brenda closed her eyes tightly, the image of the bullet coming at her burned in to her retinas. It had been so real.

"You're okay," Fritz's arms were wrapped around her protectively as she rocked back and forth on the couch.

"Get away," Brenda gasped between breaths, still hovering somewhere between her dream and reality.

"Brenda, please, just…" Fritz tried his hardest to wrap his arms around the blonde woman who was fighting him. "Let me in, Brenda Leigh."

"Fritz, I'm okay," Brenda pushed at him, wiping at her cheeks.

"You're clearly not," Fritz sighed and sat back on the coffee table, watching as his wife broke down in front of him. He was beginning to realize he couldn't do much to help her.

"Just go back to bed; I'm sorry I woke you." Brenda was slowly waking up, getting a grasp on reality. She had not been shot. She had shot a man.

"Do you want some tea? Some water? Anything?" Fritz was grasping for something, anything that would assuage her.

"No, no Fritzy. I'm all right." Brenda ran a hand under her eye, "it was just a bad dream." She assured him. She could tell he wanted to help her; he wanted to make sure she was all right. Shooting someone was no walk in the park, it was serious business. He'd gone through post shooting trauma himself, and she knew he was only concerned for her.

Reaching out, Brenda let her hand trail down his cheek. "I'm sorry, Fritzy," the tears resurfaced as she thought of what she had done to him – without him even knowing. She felt guilt gripping at her chest.

"Don't be sorry," Fritz whispered, taking her hand in to his own. "It's going to be okay."

But she'd broken their marriage vows. She'd trampled all over him and he had no idea. She felt horrible. The only thing she could think of to do was pull him to her and kiss him. He happily accepted the much missed connection, tangling his fingers in her messy hair.

This was what he had been wanting, this was what he needed. He felt whole again, he felt like the problems they'd been facing could be resolved.

"Come to bed," he whispered against her lips.

But that burning, guilty sensation crept through Brenda. She couldn't. "You should go back to sleep. I think I might watch some TV."

She didn't feel like trying to sleep again. She didn't want another nightmare; the last one was still so clear in her mind. What she did want, however, was to hear _her_ voice. She had no idea where that need came from, but she felt as if that sultry, smooth voice could appease her, quell her midnight fears.

"Okay," Fritz leaned in and kissed her again. "Get some sleep, if you can."

"I will. Thank you, Fritzy." Brenda tossed him a blurry smile before reaching for the remote control. She watched him make his way back through the kitchen, making sure he was back in bed before she reached for her cell phone which was lying on the coffee table. She checked the corner of the screen to see what time it was. Nearly five in the morning.

Should she call her? She'd left her office only three hours ago, but she would understand. Wouldn't she?

Before she could stop herself, Brenda pressed send. The phone rang and rang and rang and Brenda began to regret her decision to call the woman. She was probably exhausted after the late night investigation that would only continue in the morning. Just as she was about to hang up, a hoarse voice croaked out, "hello?"

Brenda frowned and stared down at the phone, as if to make sure she had called the right person. "Capt'n?"

"Chief," Sharon's voice was rough. She cleared her throat before asking, "are you okay?"

Brenda stared at the television screen, wondering why she'd called Sharon. She'd obviously waken her. "I…I can't sleep."

There was a moment of silence on Sharon's part. Only the sound of rustling came from the other end of the phone, as if Sharon were moving something. "That's understandable." She finally responded. "Nightmares."

Brenda nodded before verbalizing, "yes."

"It's normal." Sharon sniffed.

Brenda closed her eyes and instead of seeing the bullet in the gun, she could make out a hazy image of Sharon straddling her on the very couch which she was currently seated. She could see the half dressed woman with an unreadable smile curling the side of her lips. She could feel the soft silk of Sharon's skin as her hands had amateurly slid over the swell of her breasts.

"I want," Brenda exhaled, her eyes coming open to see a balding man trying to sell some device on an infomercial.

"Don't say it, Brenda Leigh." Her name from Sharon's lips made her chest tighten in a pleasure she had never before experienced.

"But, I…we haven't even had a chance to talk about it," Brenda whispered, glad that the television was covering her voice. She didn't want Fritz to hear her talking to a woman he thought she hated.

"And right now is not a good time, either." Sharon calmly warned.

"Why not?" Brenda demanded.

"Honey," Sharon sighed, the sound of a lighter signaled that she was smoking, "you had a traumatic day. You should try to get some sleep."

Brenda picked at the hem of her shirt. She didn't want sleep. She wanted to hear Sharon's soothing voice until she felt calm enough to go to sleep.

"Please don't worry about us," Sharon finally whispered. "Not tonight."

"But later?" Brenda whispered back.

Sharon took a deep breath, "let's get you through the next few days first."

Brenda felt an odd sense of calm at the prospect of talking to Sharon about what had happened between them. She had no idea why, but it made her feel hopeful that she could once again have Sharon the way she'd had her nearly a month ago. She had no idea why, nor a reason to commit adultery, but she wanted to explore this pull she had to the Captain.

"Capt'n?" Brenda could sense that the other woman was about to hang up, but she wasn't ready to let her go. However, she also didn't have a reason to keep her on the line.

"Chief, please try to get some sleep." Sharon's voice was slowly coming back to her normal timbre. She was waking up and Brenda felt bad for being the reason her evening had been disrupted.

"I'm sorry 'bout callin' so early." Brenda whispered and settled back against the couch.

"It's okay." Sharon quietly responded before yawning. "Go to bed."

Brenda sleepily smiled, her nightmare seemed miles away. "Okay."

"Goodnight, Chief."

"Goodnight, Capt'n."

…

Sharon could feel the headache pounding between her eyes. The phone call had been unexpected and had left her feeling groggy and sick. She should be used to waking up at the crack of dawn to field calls, but as the years went on, she realized she wasn't getting any younger. She needed her sleep. Drinking and smoking and getting her ex-husband off were what twenty year-olds did. Not sixty year-old women. "Fuck."

At least Brenda's phone call had forced Sharon off the living room floor where she'd found herself nearly passed out. Drool had pooled beneath her on her very expensive rug and when she'd finally pulled herself in to a seated position, she realized her living room was in a sorry state. Beer bottles and a nearly empty whiskey bottle cluttered all the surfaces and the ashtray would need to be emptied out.

All these thoughts only did her head in. It was only Brenda's voice that caused her to feel somewhat whole again. The fact that the blonde Chief had actually called her…her! over talking to Fritz was beyond her current comprehension. She supposed the couple had talked; they were a lovely couple after all; so lovely that it often made her want to vomit. Fritz was a fucking angel after all. Her years spent in a sham of a marriage had made her bitter to those with wonderful marriages. She could only imagine that theirs was every bit the loving union they often displayed at work.

But…Brenda had let her straddle her, had allowed her to kiss her, to fuck her.

It made no sense, and this early morning phone call also was illogical. She didn't regret fucking her superior officer; she just hadn't assumed it'd meant more than fucking.

So why was Brenda calling her in the middle of the night?

Sharon exhaled a stream of smoke and butted her cigarette , realizing that was the last of her emergency pack. _So much for quitting._ She sarcastically laughed, and then glanced around.

Mitchell was gone. He'd probably sobered up a little and finding that a passed out Sharon was no fun, had left. He was a complete fuck.

Sharon always felt like shit as soon as she woke up after a night with him. Why did she let him do that to her? She looked at her wrists, noticing the bruises forming. "Shit."

She needed to get up. She needed to brush her teeth and maybe sleep for another few hours before taking a shower, making coffee, going to work, finishing this investigation. The list made her head throb. As she reached for the couch to get up, she realized she was still drunk. She really needed to lay off the alcohol.

Stumbling blurrily through the house, she finally made it to her bedroom. Letting her skirt sink to the ground, she moved in to her master bathroom, not even turning on the light to brush her teeth. Once that was complete she worked her way out of her bra and fell in to her bed. She made sure her alarm was set for 6:30 and fell to sleep.

…

Brenda turned around in her desk chair, keeping an eye trained on her office door. Fritz had begged her not to go in to the office, but something wasn't adding up with the case. She needed to search through her paperwork, she needed to find a file and then she would dart out of the office again. She hadn't planned on staying as long as she had. Provenza had already warned her she should be home, but she waved him away, promising him she was just grabbing some things and then she would be on her way.

The two people she did _not_ want to run into were Will Pope and Sharon Raydor. The latter would have her head if she caught her in her office the day after shooting a man. She was technically on suspension until the case was resolved. She knew this, but if she was going to sit at home, she needed something to occupy her mind. She hated the flashbacks to the crime scene, the pang of fear that had left her heart pounding when she realized she'd killed a man.

So maybe she could justify her actions to herself by tying up some lose ends. She just needed some paperwork and then…

"What the _hell_ are you doing here, Chief Johnson?" Her door slammed shut and Brenda straightened in her seat. And just like that Sharon appeared in her office, shut off from the rest of the world. Brenda felt an unfamiliar fluttering sensation spread across her chest. Sharon Raydor was standing before her, in the flesh. She looked exhausted, with bags under her eyes, but she looked every bit as beautiful as she always did. When had Brenda started noticing how beautiful she was? Brenda could only imagine that she'd begun taking notice of Sharon Raydor's beauty recently. After that night.

Brenda had the strangest urge to reach out and touch the Captain, an urge she had fought to keep in line all of last night when they'd been trapped in Sharon's office almost the entire evening.

"Capt'n, so nice to see you this mornin'." Brenda felt a smile form on her lips, her heart was pounding. Though she quickly realized that Sharon was pissed at her. She'd been caught in her office.

"Oh cut the crap, _Chief Johnson_." Sharon's voice seemed to lower. "You are suspended. You know better than to show up in your office the day after a shooting."

"I just needed this," Brenda held up a file.

"No, you don't need a case. You need a break. You need time off." Sharon stepped forward and swiped the folder out of Brenda's hand.

"Capt'n, please." Brenda reached for the file, but Sharon pulled it out of her reach.

"Brenda Leigh," Sharon's voice was very near a simmering whisper. It caused Brenda to straighten, arousal pooling at this entirely inappropriate moment. "After your call to me at five in the morning, I am not in a position to recommend that you be at work."

"You can't use that against me, Sharon," Brenda hissed.

"I know better than that, Brenda Leigh," Sharon snapped back. "Go home."

Brenda got flustered. She let out an angry grunt before reaching for her bag. "I'll go crazy at home." She cursed under her breath.

"I'm setting you up the therapist appointment, which, I know you'll try to wiggle your way out of, but you're going. I will personally drive you there if need be." Sharon crossed her arms and watched as Brenda looked for some sort of distraction, some reason to not have to leave.

"I don't need you to be my Mama," Brenda stepped forward, right in to Sharon Raydor's personal space. She could nearly feel the body heat radiating from the older woman. She wanted to reach out and slip her hand in to the impossibly perfect mane of hair and pull the older woman to her lips as she had freely been able to do some weeks ago. But that wasn't the appropriate response to this situation.

"Then stop trying to get the file from me and go home." Sharon leaned forward, unafraid of Brenda's much too personal advances. It was as if the other woman were tempting her, willing her to see how far she would go before she retreated. They were dancing a dangerous dance.

"Fine," Brenda huffed and not so gently pressed past the Captain, but Sharon's arm reached out, pulling her back away from the door. "What are you doing?" Brenda lightly gasped, the touch burning her in an entirely different way than her husband's touch did. This contact sent a fire ripping through her chest. She felt so alive, so on fire from a simple touch.

Sharon's lips were by her ear as she whispered, "We both know this isn't the real file you came for." Her breath was warm against the shell of Brenda's ear. The sensation sent needles sliding down her spine.

Brenda could hear her heart pounding in her ears – it had nearly become a ringing. If she moved her head ever so slightly she could capture the woman's lips in her own. "I think…" she felt her breathing quicken, "I think you should let me go."

"Why?" Sharon let her grip loosen on the blonde's arm.

Green eyes did little to shield burning desire. Brenda could feel her own feelings reflected in those emerald orbs. She leaned forward, her lips pressing against perfectly lip-stick and glossed lips, finding that her counterpart was more than willing to let her slide her tongue between them. Sharon's hand loosened considerably on her arm, and soon her hand was tangled in her hair, causing Brenda to ever so slightly moan.

But it was enough of a moan to cause Sharon to realize what it was they were doing. No matter how right it felt, it was not the right time. "Stop, Brenda, stop," it took several more moments for the kiss to cease, but Sharon weakly pushed at the blonde. "This is not the time or place, Chief." Sharon was panting, she straightened her clothes as if searching for a distraction that would not lead to kissing her superior officer again. Her hands slid in to her pockets.

"I'm sorry," Brenda stepped back and wiped at her lips, wondering if that delicious mauve lipstick had come off on her own.

"I'm not, not really. But, we can't," Sharon shook her head, her eyes adverting away from the blonde. She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed, "we can't be doing this. Not here."

Brenda just nodded, looking like a chastised child. She wanted to touch the Captain again, but she knew that if she did she wouldn't be able to stop. She needed to leave.

"Go home," Sharon put her hand on the doorknob and pulled it open. "Now, before I report you to Chief Pope." The Captain was still a bit breathless, the energy between them tense.

Brenda just nodded, put her eyes to the ground and left. What were they getting themselves in to? It had not been their first encounter since that night. They'd had other stolen kisses – this was not the first time they'd given in - yet they seemed more lost than ever. And now Sharon would be investigating Brenda which only complicated matters further. Brenda knew she should keep her distance; that she was being unfaithful, that she was breaking rules, but there was just something about Sharon Raydor that made it impossible for her to stay away.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Sharon Raydor collapsed on her couch. The repugnant smell of smoke, which had cloaked the entire main floor of her bungalow, had finally receded somewhat. She had just finished putting her kitchen back in to order, as well as her living room area, so she was treating herself to a glass of wine.

She hated when Mitchell came over and disrupted her life. She hoped he would have the good sense to stay away that evening. He should know she would not be up for another round of bullying and blow jobs. She felt sick to her stomach by the fact she'd actually taken him inside her mouth. The same mouth that had so wantonly kissed the beautiful Deputy Chief. The woman she had not been expecting to see at all earlier that day.

She really wished that she would not feel delightful chills every time she thought about her. But Sharon had long since discovered that she had no way of stopping the way her body reacted when she thought, or saw, or heard from the blonde. Some things were just out of her control.

She could hear a key sliding in to the lock of her front door. Why she didn't just change the locks and be done with this whole mess was beyond her. Setting her wine glass on the coffee table, Sharon pulled herself up and made a beeline to the front door, relocking it before he could get inside.

"Oh come on, Sharon. Don't be a child."

"Go away! I've had enough of you." She called right back through the door.

"Come on baby, I'll be gentle tonight. I brought some wine. That kind you like," Mitchell thought he could just sweet talk her in to whatever he wanted. Well she was just a little too smart to give in to his antics.

"No. Please, leave." Sharon pushed her small frame up against the door, knowing that if Mitchell really wanted to he could still probably get inside. "I swear to God I'm going to change the locks. All of them."

"You wouldn't do that, Shar. Come on, you know you don't want to be alone tonight. I'll fuck you real sweet and slow."

"Would you shut the fuck up? My neighbors can probably hear you. Christ." Sharon rubbed her palm in to her forehead. She could go for a good fuck right about now, but not with him. She had no interest in being the receptacle for his sperm. That's how it always ended. He always took what he wanted and left her with nothing. She hadn't orgasmed with him for years. "Seriously, Mitchell. I don't want you tonight. Go away."

"I brought you this fucking wine, come on Sharon."

"No!" Sharon felt her cell phone ringing in her pocket. She jumped on the welcomed distraction. Maybe they had a new lead on the Maxwell case. "Work is calling, Mitchell. Please go away," she called out before answering, "Captain Raydor."

"Sharon," Sharon had neglected to see who was actually calling. Of course it would be Brenda Leigh.

She could hear the shattering of the wine bottle on her front porch. It made her jump. She put her hand over the receiver and cursed. She wanted to kill him.

"Is everything all right?" Brenda must have heard the noise too, or Sharon's profanity, but either way she knew something had happened.

"Yes, I just…I just slipped. It's okay." Sharon straightened herself up, knowing that Mitchell would leave. He wouldn't attempt to come back that evening. She might just leave that wine bottle all broken and shattered on her front porch so he'd step on it the next time he tried to come back. She wished he would go to hell.

"I…I don't mean to bother you," Brenda's voice sounded small on the other end, as if she were embarrassed to be talking to Sharon at all.

"No, it's quite all right," after all she'd saved her from Mitchell, from another night of self-degradation. "What can I help you with, Brenda?" Sharon moved back to the living room and settled down on her couch.

"Now don't get upset with me," Brenda cautioned which immediately drew out a sarcastic, deep laugh from Sharon.

"Please do not even start talking about the case you are currently under investigation for and involved in." Sharon sipped her wine and shook her head.

"But, Capt'n, I have…"

"No, Chief." Sharon held up her hand as if Brenda could see. "I will not have this conversation with you."

…

Brenda sunk down in the tub – a bath Fritz had forced her to take in an attempt to get her to relax -, glad for her cover of bubbles. If Fritz walked in at that moment he would be unable to see just where her hand was hovering.

"Sharon, would you please just let me talk. You can deny everything I'm about to say, but I have to tell someone." Brenda's voice was a heightened whisper. She knew that Fritz was in the other room watching a football game, but she didn't want him to overhear her. She wasn't ashamed of calling Sharon Raydor, but she was a bit paranoid about openly discussing a case she should have nothing to do with now – and for letting her fingers trail dangerously close to her surprisingly alert clit. Sharon's voice made her ache.

She felt disgusting for feeling this way with her husband sitting in the next room.

Sharon took a deep breath on the other end of the line. "Okay talk, but I am not promising I will let you finish your thoughts. I do _not_ want to get involved with anything other than what I am already involved in."

Brenda nodded her approval, sliding her hand between her folds. It felt so wrong to touch herself; yet, it was wrong in a delightfully exciting way. "I think Mrs. Dunaway was involved."

"What? Brenda, she came to us. She brought us the information." Sharon sounded incredulous. Brenda let the phone slide away from her mouth as she fought back a sigh.

"I know, but I interviewed her. I talked to her. I think she has somethin' to gain from getting' her husband out of the way." Brenda was proud of herself for keeping her voice even.

"I think you're grasping at straws. Leave it alone, Brenda Leigh. Please," She knew Sharon wouldn't want to hear this, but she could at least try, couldn't she? And besides, she needed to hear her voice; their brief interaction in the office had left Brenda in need of a release she knew her husband couldn't give her…at least not entirely.

"I don't," Brenda huffed, her mouth falling open as she found a particularly sensitive spot. "I don't want," she bit back a gasp, but a moan escaped from between her lips.

"What are you doing, Brenda Leigh?" Sharon's voice had lowered considerably; her question sounded cautious.

"Please," Brenda panted, "don't stop…don't stop talking."

"Fuck," Sharon grunted. "I am not doing this with you, Brenda Leigh." She sounded angry, but when Brenda let out a slight sigh she heard Sharon's breath catch before she whispered, "You drive me absolutely insane."

"Please, Sharon." Brenda felt oddly on the verge of tears, yet she needed a release. She needed Sharon, to have her as she had nearly three weeks ago. She had not realized the needs of her body, of her sexual appetite until Sharon Raydor's fingers had so artfully gotten her off. Followed by her lips. _Oh good Lord in heaven_.

"Brenda," Sharon's jaw sounded clenched. She was angry. Brenda pushed harder, her head falling back. She hoped she didn't drop the phone in the tub. "Jesus, I can hear you breathing. Don't…oh, God."

"Sharon," Brenda gasped, "I can't stop…I can't stop thinking about..."

"Oh fuck, Brenda Leigh," Sharon hissed.

And her name coming from Sharon's lips that final time drove her right to her orgasm. She had to fight to quiet the moan that escaped as she let go, worried that Fritz would overhear her. Brenda leaned back in the tub, letting her hand float to the surface, to skim through the bubbles that were slowly disappearing.

A moment of silence passed and Brenda began to wonder if Sharon had hung up on her.

"What did you just do?" Sharon finally snapped, as if catching her own breath.

"What do you think I just did?" Brenda's voice was Southernly slow.

"That's not fair, Brenda Leigh." Sharon sniffed. "And, I would advise you to not pursue _anything_, do you hear me, _anything_ pertaining to Mrs. Dunaway. I know," Sharon sighed, "I know this is hard, Brenda Leigh. Let it be hard. Don't go searching for loose ends to make yourself feel better. You had _every_ right to kill him. He had a gun in your face, which I don't need to remind you, but it was a life or death situation. You saved your own life and who knows how many other people's lives."

Brenda felt tears falling down her cheeks. The same logic she had been trying to grasp herself sounded so much more comforting coming from Sharon's mouth. She hadn't known the woman to be a comforter, but she was. "I just think…"

There was a knock at the bathroom door, "Are you all right, Brenda?"

"Yes, Fritzy. I'm almost done." She wiped furiously at her cheeks, hoping her voice sounded even.

"Do you want me to order in some Chinese?"

"Oh, that would be lovely, thank you." Brenda responded, listening as Fritz walked away. "I'm sorry," she whispered to Sharon.

"It sounds like you should go." Sharon's voice had taken on a more serious tone. Brenda immediately wished that Fritz had not interrupted their conversation.

"Sharon," Brenda was horrible at ending conversations with Sharon.

"Really, go enjoy your evening with Agent Howard." Sharon was going to hang up on her whether she liked it or not. "And please, _please_ don't pursue anything. Take time off. Relax."

"Okay," Brenda swept a hand through the bubbles, realizing her time with Sharon was about to end. She had to go back to her regular life, to Fritz, to pretending to be happy in marital bliss. "Thank you." She finally whispered.

"Brenda," Sharon had one last thing to say.

"Hmm?"

"Please don't get off while I'm talking to you on the phone again."

"Why not?"

"I can't…just…don't."

…

And with that Sharon hung up the phone and leaned back against the couch, her mouth opening as her fingers rubbed frantically. She allowed herself the moan she had been holding in.

She was fucked.

…

"Agent Howard."

Fritz glanced up from his desk, surprised to find Captain Raydor hovering in his doorway.

"Captain Raydor, to what do I owe the pleasure?" He, a little too snidely, inquired.

Sharon looked a bit off-put. "Do you mind?" She held the door as if she wanted to come inside.

Fritz shrugged, "not at all. Come in. Is this," he waited until the door closed, "is this about Brenda?"

"It is," Sharon crossed her arms over her chest. "I went ahead and sat up a therapy appointment for her. I just need you to make sure she goes. It's mandatory, but I know she'll try to find a way out of it if she can."

Fritz nodded, realizing that Sharon was looking out for his wife. "Of course. I'll make sure she gets there."

"Here's the date and location," Sharon held out a piece of paper for him. He took it and glanced down at the information.

"Thank you, Captain."

Sharon nodded, "get her there." And with that she turned and left his office.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Brenda felt emotionally drained. She had never been one for therapists, avoiding them at all costs but she had an obligation to fill. She would not get her badge back if she didn't. She missed her badge. And her gun. And her job. She was itching to get back. But she was never ready to discuss shootings.

The therapist had been kind enough, had let her skirt around the issue, but she knew they had to discuss the incident so the therapist could assess her mental state. Right now, Brenda's mental state felt all over the place.

She supposed that was why she found herself driving down a vaguely familiar street instead of going home.

Pulling up to a house she had only ever dropped a file off at one time, Brenda realized that this was probably a bad idea.

And as she parked her car and walked to the front door, she felt even wearier of her decision. There was a man sitting on the front porch.

"Oh," Brenda startled backwards, having not noticed him from the driveway.

"Well who are you?" He tapped his cigarette on the edge of the stair he was seated upon.

Brenda frowned, glancing at the address on the bungalow. It _was_ the right address, wasn't it? "I might ask you the same thing."

"My name's Mitchell," the man got up from the steps and came towards her, extending his hand.

"Brenda Leigh," she was still confused. He was attractive enough, older, probably late fifties, early sixties. He had dusty dark hair and he looked toned, muscular. Who was this man? And why was he sitting on Sharon's front porch?

"Did you come to see Sharon?" He asked, taking a puff of his cigarette before butting it beneath his boot.

"Why, yes. I suppose I did, but…is she here?" Brenda glanced towards the door, hoping that Sharon would come out and explain who this person was. She wasn't married, was she? Brenda was quickly realizing her knowledge of Sharon Raydor's personal life was very limited.

"She's not right now. Can I tell her you stopped by?" Mitchell gave her a winning smile. He was certainly charming. Brenda didn't like it.

"Um, certainly. That would be good." Brenda nodded, realization that the woman she had let fuck her was not the woman she had thought her to be. Her nerves crawled, her heart felt like it was constricting.

She made a quick retreat to her car, realizing her decision to come to Sharon had been a bad one. Of course she hadn't mentioned having a husband, or boyfriend, or whatever this man was to her.

She hoped she didn't call her; she didn't want to face her. Brenda felt like an idiot.

Tears she had fought hard to keep inside crept messily down her cheeks as she started her car and backed out of the driveway.

…

Sharon mindlessly French inhaled as she turned on to her street. She hated that she'd bought another pack of cigarettes, but she almost didn't care. She was also apathetic to the fact that Mitchell was sitting on her front porch when she pulled in to her driveway. Turning off the ignition, Sharon set back and enjoyed the last of her cigarette, unbuttoning her blazer as she did so.

In her peripheral she could tell that Mitchell was moving towards her. In a matter of seconds he was leaning up against her car door, taking the cigarette from between her fingers.

"You changed the locks," Mitchell coolly stated. She could sense his anger with her.

"I did," she blankly nodded, her eyes focused intently on a blinking red light imbedded in her dashboard.

"Why'd you do that?" He blew a stream of smoke right in her face.

"Mitch! Get away," she waved her hands in front of her face, clearing the smoke, before reaching for her purse and satchel. Forcefully she pushed her door in to him and stepped out. Her heels clicked loudly up her sidewalk, she could tell Mitchell was following her. "Put that fucking cigarette out." She hissed as she put the key in the lock.

He complied, knowing that she would be more likely to give in to his wants if he gave in to a few of hers.

Sharon tossed her keys in a bowel and kicked off her heels upon entering her bungalow. Dropping her purse and bag, she slid out of her blazer, taking note of the bruises still littering her wrists. "If you lay a hand on me tonight, so help me God, I will have you arrested."

"I didn't mean to hurt you, Sharon." He slid down on to the couch, watching as Sharon checked her phone. "Expecting a call?"

"What?" Sharon glanced up from her phone, "no." But she supposed she had been. Wouldn't Brenda at least text her after her appointment? Sharon scrolled through her previous texts from Brenda. Brenda had only expressed her concern about the appointment, but Sharon had been encouraging. Their texts were brief and received sporadically throughout the day, but it was clear that Brenda had needed Sharon. Why wouldn't she text her after the appointment then?

"Sharon," Mitchell was trying to get her attention, "Hey, Shar."

"What?" Sharon tossed her phone on to the counter and moved to get a wine glass down.

"You're out of beer." He slammed the refrigerator door closed.

"Well you're the only one who drinks it, and you don't live here so why should I buy it for you? If you want beer you can go to the store and get it yourself." Sharon calmly responded, reaching around Mitchell to pull a wine bottle out of the fridge.

He leaned against the counter. "I don't think I like it when you stand up to me."

"Well you wouldn't." Sharon sipped back the wine, knowing she would need it.

"Are we going to do this?" He tactlessly inquired.

Sharon checked her phone again, already knowing Brenda hadn't texted her back.

Getting the feeling that she wasn't going to hear from her that evening, Sharon looked up at Mitchell. Their eyes met, a wordless consensus passed between them. Sharon ducked her head and nodded towards the hallway.

She listened as Mitchell loosened his belt behind her. He was already undressing.

Ducking in to her bedroom, Sharon undid the clasp on her skirt and gently unzipped it. Mitchell's hands were on her hips, sliding around to her stomach before coming up to cup her breasts. "Let me take off my shirt," Sharon slid out of his embrace to fully unclothe. He did the same, so that when she turned he was completely naked. "Make it quick." She settled on the side of the bed and undid her bra.

"Have a hot date with some dyke?" He held himself, rubbing his penis while moving towards Sharon.

"No, I just want to enjoy the rest of my evening. Without you here." Sharon settled back on the bed.

Mitchell climbed on top of her, his rough lips pressing against her neck. She closed her eyes and let him take over. Marriage, and the aftermath of a marriage, were gray area. No one prepared you for what to expect, what to do, what was wrong, what was right. So many emotions were tied up in this relationship, in this union. Sharon supposed this was why she allowed her ex-husband to sleep with her. She still cared for him, though she wished she didn't.

He pushed roughly inside of her, causing tears to form in her eyes. It wasn't comfortable, it wasn't nice.

Sharon loved to dominate and control. She loved to watch women orgasm; to take care of them and know that what they were experiencing was pleasure, not pain. So why couldn't she hope for and want that for herself?

Brenda Leigh made Sharon Raydor want pleasure, want to know what it was like to truly experience love. But Brenda Leigh was a taken, married woman. Happily married at that.

Sharon always wanted what she couldn't have.

…

Brenda wiped at her tears as she stepped inside her home. She could hear the TV on and knew that Fritz was there. The tears, which she had tried to contain on her drive home, seemed to only intensify when she saw him sitting there.

"Brenda?" Fritz looked up from the television, concern etched in his features. In a matter of seconds he was up and at her side, helping her to the couch. "It's okay," he held her close, hugging her as tightly as he could.

She wanted out of his insufferable grasp, but she should feel safe and secure in his arms. He was her husband, after all. She loved him. She loved him. She loved him.

She kept reminding herself over and over as he hugged her, kissing her forehead in reassurance.

Brenda knew he thought she was crying because of the therapist appointment. She supposed that in some ways she was, but more likely than not she was crying because she didn't feel comfortable in this embrace, in this life.

She desperately wanted to. She wanted to go back, to rewind it all to that one night that she had drunkenly asked Sharon to come home with her. She wanted to stop herself from attending that Mayoral Ball in the first place.

Fritz had been out of town, he'd even encouraged her to go, and she supposed she had wanted to. But the only thing she remembered from that evening was how beautiful Sharon Raydor looked in a deep red cocktail dress with those delicious black alligator print heels. The way her hair sat messily atop her head made Brenda's stomach flutter, and the Captain would touch it as she talked freely – due to the large amounts of alcohol they both consumed. And Brenda had only wanted to kiss those delicious lips, to know what it felt like to be the object of Sharon's affections.

Sharon kept touching Brenda's leg, her arm, her back.

Brenda knew she wanted her, even before she'd had her first drink. If she was completely honest with herself – which she did not want to be – she'd wanted Sharon Raydor even before that evening. The progression of the night was a continuation of that want.

…but she couldn't think like this. She was in her husband's arms. The man who loved her. The man she loved.

"Take me to bed," she heard her weak voice whisper in to the broad shoulder she was soaking with her tears.

"Are you sure?" He whispered, carefully helping her up.

Brenda nodded, allowing him to lead her in to the bedroom. He sat her on the bed and pulled off her heels, reaching around her to undo the back of her dress. She limply helped him pull it off her arms and then she sat up so that it pooled around her feet. Fritz slid out of his sweat pants and pulled his shirt easily off. He was a handsome man; Brenda could not deny this fact, but she almost couldn't look at him.

He was gentle with her. His lips pressed lovingly against her own and upon contact Brenda's eyes slid closed. If he hadn't had stubble above his lips, she could almost pretend she was kissing Sharon. No, she couldn't think about her. She could not.

Her eyes came open.

She was with Fritz. She loved Fritz.

He slid inside of her, his motions cautious at first, his lips pressing against her jaw, her neck, her shoulder.

It wasn't the same. Brenda closed her eyes. She wanted to feel what she had felt with Sharon. She wanted her orgasm with Fritz to be as powerful as her orgasm with Sharon had been. Mindlessly her fingers moved to meet where Fritz was thrusting. She slid a finger upwards and over her clit, which only made Fritz more excited.

"You've never touched yourself before," he groaned against her ear.

"Shh," she cautioned, not wanting to hear his voice. Finding a spot she had really enjoyed with Sharon, she rubbed, her thighs contracting, working hard to reach orgasm.

Her jaw went slack as familiar sensations began racing through her body. She was actually getting close. A pleased moan surged from her lips, only fueling Fritz's enthusiasm. He was very near his own orgasm, but Brenda could only think of those long, luxurious fingers rubbing adamantly against her throbbing clit and even though she knew she was administering to herself, the mental image of Sharon brought her to the first wave of her orgasm. The sensations were intense, rough, hard, harder than she'd ever remembered it being with Fritz before. She called out, grasping at his arm with her free hand as she continued to rub, to bring herself to climax. She felt herself tightening around Fritz, unaware that he had already orgasmed inside of her.

The waves of her orgasm washed over her, but when she opened her eyes to find Fritz's smiling face hovering over her, the pleasure seemed to dim.

She felt suddenly self-conscious that she had gotten involved, that she'd touched herself so openly in front of him.

"That was so hot, Brenda Leigh. We haven't been that good in a long time." Fritz pressed his lips to hers, carefully rolling off of her, but continuing to pin her to the bed with his muscular arms. He wanted to cuddle, and all Brenda wanted to do was slip out of bed and shower.

She closed her eyes and let Fritz hold her, willing the tears away as best she could. She was sick of crying.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"I don't wanna go, Fritzy," Brenda kicked off another pair of heels. Nothing was right. Her dress was wrinkled, her hair wasn't doing what she wanted it to do, and none of her heels matched her outfit. Frankly she didn't want to go to the LAPD gala. She'd had enough of prestigious events and currently she didn't feel very interested in potentially being in the same room as _her_.

"But you look beautiful, Brenda Leigh. Here," he bent down and rummaged through her closet. "Try these." He tossed her a sleek patent leather gray heel and she slid it on. She had to admit it was the perfect choice.

"Oh Fritzy," she wanted to cry. It all felt so painfully normal between them, yet she knew it wasn't quite right. Fritz might think it was, but in the pit of her stomach she never felt settled, comfortable.

"You're going to have fun. You can see your team, you can talk to Will, it will be fine," Fritz put his hands on her shoulders and leaned in to kiss her.

Brenda rolled her eyes and nodded. "Okay, okay I'll go."

"That's my girl." Fritz ran a finger down her cheek and winked. "Let's go."

…

Sharon felt her presence before she even knew she'd arrived. The masculine hand on the small of her back made her uncomfortable and she easily slipped out of Mitchell's embrace. "You know, I never understood why you two divorced. You make such a lovely couple," their mutual friend Keith was grinning at them.

"Well, you know how life is," Mitchell sipped his drink and shrugged.

"You know, I really admired you as a couple. I looked up to you. My own marriage only lasted five years. Can you believe that? She cheated on me with a younger man." He shook his head, his eyes devouring Sharon. She was used to his attention, but she could tell Mitchell didn't like it one bit. Though he had no right any more to dictate who looked at her and who didn't.

Rolling her eyes, Sharon happened to glance over Keith's shoulder; her eyes collided with burning browns. _Fuck_. Brenda looked delicious in a light pink dress which puffed out at the bottom. Her hair was loosely curled, her lips a succulent pink, her heels making her legs look as if they went on forever. Sharon wanted to fuck her senseless.

The thought made her knees weaken. Christ, she needed to get a grip.

She sipped her cosmopolitan and watched as Fritz pulled a glass of champagne off a passing tray and handed it to Brenda. This action caused their intense eye contact to get cut off, but Sharon couldn't stop looking. She kept her drink poised at her lips as she watched Fritz pull Brenda to him, the couple partaking in a dance. A disgusted smile formed on Sharon's lips as she sipped, noticing how Brenda smiled lovingly up at her husband. They looked so fucking happy. It made Sharon sick.

"Sharon," Mitchell was trying to get her attention.

"Hmm?" She hummed, swallowing the sip she'd been holding in her mouth. It burned delightfully just the way her heart burned as she watched Brenda and her husband.

"Do you want to go outside for a smoke?" Mitchell whispered in her ear.

"No," she shook her head, her eyes moving back to Mitchell. "You can go."

He shrugged and set his drink on the bar. Before he left he pulled Sharon to him and whispered against her ear, "don't fuck him while I'm outside."

"I think he's the least of your concerns," Sharon roughly retorted.

She glanced back to where Brenda and Fritz had been dancing, but realized they'd moved. She'd lost sight of them.

"You know you are so beautiful," Keith was still standing in front of her.

"Thank you," she graciously accepted the compliment, "but I'm not sleeping with men anymore." She sipped back the rest of the cosmopolitan, set the glass on the bar and turned to go to the bathroom. She missed the flustered, confused, and slightly aroused look that crossed Keith's features.

…

Brenda glanced over Provenza's shoulder and realized the older woman had left the bar and was headed towards the bathroom. She looked so beautiful in a simple, classic black dress with dark red heels. Her hair was straightened out but looked gorgeous as usual and she'd kept her glasses on. God, those glasses drove Brenda insane.

But she was mad at her. She was mad that she hadn't told her about this man…this Mitchell. And there he'd been, at her side, touching her, acting as if they were a couple.

But then why had Sharon's eyes been burning in to her while she'd danced with Fritz? She hated her, yet wanted to touch her, to kiss her. It didn't make any sense.

"'Scuse me, I'm gonna go freshen up in the ladies' room." Brenda easily slid out of Fritz's embrace, giving him a chaste kiss before walking towards the room she had just seen Sharon disappear in to. She didn't know what she was going to do when she saw the brunette, but she knew she was angry with her.

Brenda was almost unsurprised to find Sharon leaning up against the sink countertop, her head bowed, her eyes closed. Brenda made a quick survey of the restroom and found it was empty save the two of them. "You are not allowed to look at me like that!" She snapped.

"Like what, Brenda Leigh?" Sharon's voice was as smooth as honey and Brenda wanted to smack her for playing dumb. She didn't even move from her spot, hovering over the sink.

The urge to touch, to strangle, to yell at the older woman overtook Brenda. She reached out, grabbing Sharon's arm and turning her around, slamming her in to the side of the bathroom stall. "Fuck, Brenda." Sharon cursed, their eyes burning in to one another, Brenda's hand sliding in to Sharon's hair, their lips melding together in a heated, tense kiss.

Brenda sucked Sharon's bottom lip between her lips, her teeth coming out to painfully pull on Sharon's lip. Brenda could tell she was hurting her, but a moan escaped from Sharon's lips. It was painfully erotic. Brenda pulled back, "you're not allowed to look at me like that," she whispered harshly, melding their lips together again, having absolutely no control over her actions. She wished she could pull away, she wished she could separate herself, but Sharon's lips were intoxicating. "You're not…" she kissed Sharon again, "allowed to look at me," her hand slid over a taut nipple, "when you have someone."

Sharon's hands came up and in a simple motion she pushed Brenda's hands off of her person, disconnecting their contact. "I don't _have_ anyone."

"Who is Mitchell?" Brenda stepped back, wiping at her lip.

"Mitchell? He's my ex-husband." Sharon stepped back in front of the mirror, leaning forward to exam her lip. It was bleeding. "Fuck, Brenda Leigh." She pulled some paper towels from the dispenser and pressed them to the bloodied spot.

"Why is he here with you?" Brenda, feeling horrible for what she'd just done, hit Sharon's hands away and turned her to face her, carefully caring for the lip, despite Sharon's useless protestations. "I'm sorry." She whispered.

"It's okay," Sharon rolled her eyes. "He's here because he's a District Attorney." She got out between Brenda's ministrations to her lip.

"Are you still with him?"

"You know, Brenda Leigh, what difference does it make? You're still married to Agent Howard." Sharon snapped the towel out of the younger woman's hand, turning to examine her lip.

Brenda slid her hand over Sharon's hip. "I don't want to talk about him right now." Her lips came to gently kiss the exposed skin on Sharon's back.

"Then I don't want to talk about Mitchell," Sharon shrugged Brenda away.

"Why was he on the front porch when I stopped by the other day?" Brenda crossed her arms.

She could see Sharon frown as she made sure her lip was okay. "You stopped by?" Sharon turned to face her again.

"I did. After the…appointment." Brenda's voice quieted.

Sharon's brow creased. "That fuck." She angrily tossed the bloody paper towel in the trash.

"He didn't," Brenda frowned, "he didn't tell you? He said he would."

Sharon shook her head. "Of course he didn't."

Brenda reached out to touch Sharon, but they both heard the bathroom door opening and jumped apart. Brenda moved beside Sharon and turned on the sink, intently washing her hands. They both quietly waited until the woman who'd entered walked in to a stall before Sharon turned, pulling Brenda to her and kissing her.

"I need you." Brenda whispered against her ear.

"Shh," Sharon whispered, pressing her lips to Brenda's one more time before sliding out of her embrace and moving to the door.

It was in the motion that Brenda noticed the mesmerizingly large cuffs the older woman was wearing around her wrists. One had slipped upwards and what looked like a bruise was hidden beneath it.

Brenda felt her stomach clench. She wanted to go after Sharon and demand to know who had done that to her, but the door had already closed. Sharon would be lost in the crowd and even if they ran in to one another again, Fritz would be at her side, and she and Sharon were supposed to be enemies, not friends.

Brenda made it a mental note to ask Sharon about her wrists later. Sharon was not hers to keep, but the protectiveness Brenda felt towards her made her want to kill anyone who touched her.

Stepping out of the bathroom, Brenda found herself pressed up against Fritz. "Were you trapped in there with Raydor?" He whispered to her.

"She was in there?" She whispered back, preferring to play dumb. She didn't like the way Fritz had said her name, or that he was even talking about her.

"I saw her leave the bathroom. You know, come to think of it, I think she left." He shrugged. "Do you want to dance?"

_No_, her internal voice screamed, but he was her husband. "Yes." She let him guide her to the dance floor. She wanted to follow Sharon out of the party; she wanted to take her home, as she had before. She wanted to find out who had bruised her, she wanted to kill that person and then kiss Sharon better. But she was trapped. Trapped with her husband.

She glanced over his shoulder, searching for Sharon in the crowd, but she never saw her again that evening.


	6. Chapter 6

**Hey guys, I just wanted to thank you all for being wonderful reviewers and for giving this story a chance. I apologize for the last chapter that was so short. I think this one will, hopefully, make up for it. I would also like to give fair warning that this is a short fic. It is only 10 chapters, so I'm sorry to disappoint anyone. I hope you will all continue to read. I really appreciate the feedback and reviews. :) Thank you guys!**

Chapter 6

"Let's go over this again," Sharon shuffled the papers on her desk.

"Why do we have to go over it again?" Brenda sighed, scooting down in her seat.

"Chief Johnson," Sharon eyed her over the paperwork. The professional title she had once insisted upon felt trite now. Sharon exhaled sharply and took off her glasses, rubbing her forehead. "The DA's office has reviewed the criminal aspects. I don't think this case will pass on to the Federal Courts, but you know how much paper work is tied up in a situation like this. I just need to finalize this paperwork, and it will put you one step closer to getting your badge back." With this she crossed her legs and put her glasses back on, staring with a tedious smile at Brenda.

Brenda crossed her arms and huffed. She could think of a hundred other things she would rather be doing with Sharon Raydor right now instead of going back over the exact details of _that_ night. "Why'd you leave the gala early?"

"Oh, God, Brenda." Sharon tossed her pen on to her desk.

"And what is this?" Brenda nearly jumped forward and caught Sharon's hand, rolling her sleeves up to reveal the bruises that looked much worse than she'd originally anticipated.

"That is none of your business." Sharon pulled her hand roughly away.

"It was your business during the Moore case." Brenda sat back down.

Sharon slammed the case file closed. "Perhaps we should finish this interview at another time, since you are clearly not ready to talk about it."

"That's not fair, Sharon Raydor."

"Captain."

"What?"

"If I have to use your title, you have to use mine. Please, leave. We'll reschedule." Sharon shuffled the file away.

Brenda stayed put, staring across the desk at the troubled woman. She wanted to move to her, to wrap her arms around her, but the windows in the office were open. And emerald green eyes wouldn't look at her, wouldn't even acknowledge her presence any more.

"Screw you, Capt'n." Brenda hissed, standing up from her seat and leaving without giving the impossible woman another glance.

…

Sharon Raydor languorously puffed on her cigarette, paperwork sprawled out atop her coffee table. She sat her pen down and reached for her glass of wine, taking note of how the bruises were beginning to fade.

She wasn't like Ally Moore. She willfully let this happen, didn't she? It was as if she derived pleasure from the pain he inflicted upon her. She liked it rough. She was not Ally Moore.

The knocking on her front door caused her stomach to lurch. She knew exactly who it would be. She had to wonder why he couldn't just find some nice, young woman to take to bed. Why couldn't he go to a bar like other men, pick up some slightly inebriated woman and forget his ex-wife existed?

She butted her cigarette in the ashtray and waved her hands to clear the smoke. She'd long ago promised herself she wouldn't smoke in the house, but it was beginning to rain outside and she'd given up hope of keeping to her rules. After all, she'd sworn up and down she would never touch Mitchell again after the divorce, and well…here they were.

She opened up the door, expecting to find him standing there, but instead there was a petite blonde.

"Brenda?" Sharon frowned. Their eyes met, colliding together in a heated moment. Sharon felt her heart catch fire, a pleasant pain spiraling its way across her chest. God, the things Brenda did to her.

She wasn't quite sure who closed the distance, but in seconds Brenda's hands were in her hair, kissing her smoky wine flavored lips. "Who did this to you?" Brenda whispered between kisses, pushing Sharon in to her front foyer, kicking the door shut with her foot, leaning their bodies against the cool, wood surface.

"It doesn't matter, Brenda Leigh." Sharon whispered, their lips unable to part. Her hand slid its way up Brenda's side, her fingers covering the younger woman's breast as she kissed hungrily down Brenda's neck.

"Why'd you get so mad 'bout it?" Brenda enjoyed being pressed up against Sharon Raydor's front door. She enjoyed the way that Sharon's touches and caresses – even through her clothes – sat her nerves on end, pleasantly burning her skin.

"Shut up. Please," Sharon begged, her hands gliding through blonde hair, pulling their lips closer together.

"God, I need you," Brenda panted, reaching to pull Sharon's hand out of her hair, directing it downwards.

Sharon took it from there, her fingers agilely sliding Brenda's skirt up her thigh, trailing over exposed skin. Her fingers teased over damp underwear, exhaling loudly at the realization that Brenda had been ready for this, had clearly been wanting this, had been thinking about her, about this.

Her fingers trailed upwards, slipping up to cup Brenda's breast over her bra. The blonde woman protested against her lips, urging Sharon's hand back down. Her fingers seemed to take ages, but when they got back to the apex of her thigh she moved her underwear to the side and slid a finger into slick wetness. She rubbed upwards, using her thigh to give her leverage as she moved over Brenda's aroused clit.

"Oh, Lord!" Brenda called out, her body moving in tandem with Sharon's ministrations. She had a tight grip on the back of Sharon's shirt, pulling her to her, using the brunette's body to help support her, to grind against her.

Brenda felt delicious, she tasted like chocolate. Sharon knew she could easily get lost in the Chief for hours, days, or weeks even at a time. She was dangerous, like hanging drugs in front of an addict. Her fingers pushed against Brenda's slickness, loving the softness, the sweetness of taking a woman, taking Brenda.

"More," Brenda breathed, her head falling back against the door.

Sharon pushed harder, her leg almost shaking from supporting Brenda. Leaning forward to capture the blonde's lips in her own again, she whispered, "not yet." And then pulled her fingers away, moving away from the door.

Brenda almost stumbled forward, her legs weak. "What?" She finally stammered out.

"Come here," Sharon motioned for her to follow, sliding her shirt up as she walked. She took off her glasses, before removing her shirt, and sat them on a table as she passed by.

Brenda fell over herself to follow, slipping out of her shoes as she walked forward. Her feet carried her forward, stopping Sharon before she could pull off her shirt. "No."

"Why not?" Sharon turned at her bedroom door.

"I want to undress you." Brenda leaned in and kissed her.

Sharon felt tingles race down her spin. "You're too much," she shook her head, letting a smile tug at her lips.

"You're beautiful when you smile." Brenda let her hand slip in to Sharon's messy hair.

Sharon just shook her head and took Brenda's hand, leading her in to the bedroom. As they reached the edge of the bed, Sharon turned, pulling Brenda's dress up and over her head. Her bra was next to go, followed by her sexy black underwear. Had she planned this out?

Sharon began to settle between Brenda's legs, spreading them apart, but Brenda stopped her. "I want to see you." She swept her fingers through Sharon's hair and leaned down, pulling their lips together over and over. "You're so beautiful," she whispered.

"Shh," Sharon shook her head and slid her shirt up again, but allowed Brenda to help her out of it.

Brenda's fingers slid around her waist, undoing her bra before pulling it off. Her fingers grazed over taut nipples, distracted by the beautiful breasts. Sharon let her hands grasp around Brenda's arms, gently moving upwards to carefully remove Brenda's hands from her breasts. She smiled and leaned up to kiss her again. "Take off my pants." She grinned against Brenda's lips.

Brenda gladly complied, helping Sharon out of her underwear and pants in an uncoordinated dance. Their bodies twisted, falling together on to the bed. It was the first time they had been naked together and – somewhat - sober. Skin melded in to skin, their bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces.

They grasped and squeezed and held one another as their lips came together over and over again. It felt as if they had been made to fit together like this. How could something so wrong feel so completely right? Sharon knew this was cliché, but it was the first time – she realized – she had ever felt this way.

Brenda wrestled her way on top. "I want to touch you."

"What about…" Sharon was cut off by a passionate kiss.

"Shh," Brenda whispered. Her hand sliding between Sharon's legs. Sharon knew she was wet. She'd been wet since opening her front door and realizing it was Brenda and not Mitchell. "God, Sharon, you're so sexy."

Sharon just smiled and arched in to Brenda. "That feels so…" she inhaled, "good." Brenda's fingers had slid in to perfect territory.

"Is it okay?" Brenda, realizing that she'd hit a good place, kept going, encouraged by the pleased look on Sharon's beautiful face.

"It's…it's wonderful." Sharon's legs wrapped around Brenda's body, her arms reaching around the woman, grasping at her skin. "Oh, fuck, Brenda," Sharon sighed. "Fuck, fuck," she kept whispering, her body giving in to Brenda's touch.

Brenda captured her lips, kissing the brunette beneath her. "Come for me," she whispered.

Sharon's head slid backwards, her hips moving upwards, in to Brenda's fingers. "Yes, there…hard." She rasped out working in tandem with the blonde, feeling herself on the edge. She was almost there; she was about to orgasm like she hadn't for years. "Oh, God! Brenda." Sharon pushed against her, her legs tightening as the first ripple raced through her entire body. "Don't stop, don't stop, don't stop," she chanted, her body shaking as the orgasm overtook her.

Brenda was staring down at her, a bewildered, yet pleased look on her face. Sharon let the orgasm ride out until she could no longer clench, and finally she fell back on to the bed. She pulled Brenda to her, fingers sliding in to messy blonde hair, their lips colliding in heated, breathless kisses.

Brenda wordlessly sat back, taking Sharon's arm in her hand. She pulled Sharon's hand to her and then kissed the bruises that were littering her wrists. Gently setting that hand down, she picked up the other and, with eyes focused intently on Sharon's face, she repeated her actions.

Sharon fought back the tears that were threatening to fall. She brought her hand to her eyes, wiping at the corners. "Stop." She whispered, entwining her fingers with Brenda's and pulling her back on top of her.

"Who hurt you?" Brenda whispered against her neck, her lips sucking lightly at the skin beneath, her tongue sliding out to lick lightly.

"I don't want to talk about it," Sharon whispered, her hand trailing down Brenda's side.

"But if someone is hurtin' you…"

"What'd I just say?" Sharon snapped, a bit roughly.

Brenda sat up again. "I don't like it."

"I know you don't, but I just don't want to talk about it tonight." Sharon shook her head.

"I'm going to file a report…"

"Brenda," Sharon sat up on her elbows. "Should we talk about what you're doing here when you should be home with Fritz?"

Brenda's intense gaze softened. She looked down at Sharon's naked body and let her finger slide over her still taut nipple. "Okay." Brenda nodded.

"Can we just have a night together, Brenda Leigh. Our night."

"Forget 'bout everything else?" Brenda settled back down on top of Sharon, her legs straddling one of Sharon's thighs. Sharon could tell she was still wet. Very wet.

"Yes," Sharon leaned up and kissed Brenda, unceremoniously pushing her back so that she ended up on top. "Let me finish what I started."

…

Brenda shifted in the bed, snuggling in closer to a soft, naked body. Her lips grazed over exposed flesh, capturing several strands of hair between her lips as she did so.

It was only when her eyes opened that Brenda began to recognize her surroundings. Her eyes darted around the room, searching for a clock, for any device that would tell time. She found a glowing blue clock on the bedside table. It took several moments for her eyes to adjust, but she sat up in a panic when the time registered.

2:16 AM.

"Oh…shoot," Brenda cursed, scrambling to untangle the sheet from around her leg.

"What's wrong?" A tired voice inquired from beside her. She'd waken Sharon up.

"I have to go. It's late." Brenda rolled off the bed and searched in the dim light for her clothes.

"What time is it?" Sharon sat up in the bed, pulling the sheets up around her naked body. Brenda had to wonder if she felt ashamed for what they had done.

"After two," Brenda pulled on her underwear, finding it still wet from the previous evening. Gross.

"Did he…"

"No. I didn't tell him." Brenda ran a hand through her hair. It was a mess. How was she supposed to explain herself to Fritz now?

"Well where does he think you are?" Sharon demanded, reaching for her glasses. Apparently she had a pair in every room.

"I don't know, Sharon. I just…I should get home." Brenda slid in to her shirt. "Maybe I went to the bar."

Sharon just shook her head, running a hand through her hair.

"I'm sorry." Brenda climbed back on to the bed and moved Sharon's hand, cupping her cheeks to kiss her, but Sharon shook her head.

"Go home."

"Sharon, don't punish me." Brenda whined. "Please." She just wanted one more kiss before she left.

Sharon took a deep breath and leaned forward for a brief kiss. "Go."

Brenda pouted, but she knew she couldn't stick around much longer. She had no idea what she was going to tell Fritz, whom she was certain had tried to call her a thousand times. She didn't want to leave her bed to return to his – theirs. She wanted to stay here. And now she could sense that Sharon was upset with her. Their evening had been so beautiful, so serene, devoid of the outside world. Brenda had felt like she was in a bubble, a protective little bubble, and now she had to leave that bubble and return back to reality, back to life, back to an unhappy, worried husband, and an upset Sharon Raydor. This was unfair.

"I'm sorry," Brenda whispered before Sharon pushed her away.

"Leave already." Sharon took off her glasses and settled back in to her bed.

Brenda took one last glance of the beautiful woman sprawled out on her bed, naked beneath her sheet. She wanted to make love to her again, but she actually could hear her phone ringing in the other room. "I'm sorry," she whispered again, and then left the room.

With each step she took away from the brunette, her chest clinched a little tighter. By the time she got home she felt as if her chest might explode from the compression she was feeling.

"Where have you been? Jesus Christ, Brenda Leigh. It's almost three in the morning!" Fritz cried, his arms wrapping around her.

"I'm sorry, Fritz. I'm sorry." She whispered, tears stinging her eyes upon contact. It hurt. His arms touching her hurt. "I'm so sorry. I was out…out drivin'. I didn't…I didn't mean…" She gasped, trying to sound sincere in her excuse.

"It's okay, it's okay." Fritz whispered, his lips touching her forehead in what was meant to be a comforting gesture, but only burned. She wanted to wipe away the wetness left by his lips. "You're okay now. It's okay."

He helped her to the bedroom, watching as she undressed and stepped in to the shower. She washed away the remnants of her evening with Sharon, tears falling from her eyes as she did so. She didn't want to get rid of the way Sharon smelled, but it was not appropriate. She washed and scrubbed away until she was clean, clean of what she had done.

Exiting the shower, she brushed her teeth, missing the feel of Sharon's tongue inside her mouth, her lips pressed against her own. She would give anything to spend the rest of the evening in Sharon's bed, but now she had to go back to her own bed, to her husband.

She climbed in to the bed beside him.

He tried to wrap his arms around her.

But she couldn't handle it. "Don't." She whispered, reaching for her pillow.

"Don't leave, Brenda…I just…I just want to help you."

"Help me by givin' me space. Okay?" She angrily got up and went to the living room. Settling down on the couch, she curled in to a ball and cried. "Fuck." She kept whispering, over and over again.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

'Are you okay?'

'Yes.'

'What happened?'

'I said I was out driving. It's okay.'

'Good.' Sharon typed out, not sure what to make of Brenda's last text.

She tossed her phone on to a pile of paperwork on her desk and put her head in her hands. Of course it was okay. Brenda could probably get away with murder and Fritz would still love her, and everything would be okay. He was such a fucking decent guy.

'I can't stop thinking about you.'

"Oh, God, Brenda." Sharon held the phone in her hands. The text made her heart melt. She was too old to be conducting a love affair with a married woman.

'I know how you feel.' Sharon typed out, wishing she could put the fucking phone down and do some work. Brenda was already creating enough of a distraction in her life.

'What are we going to do?'

Well that was a loaded question. What were they going to do? Brenda would never leave Fritz. Sharon was conducting this messed up affair with her ex-husband. They were a horrible match.

'I don't know.' She finally resolved to type, and then set her phone down, hoping Brenda would find something better to do with her time and leave her alone with these impossible questions.

…

'I don't know.'

Well she didn't know either. Brenda just knew she couldn't go on like this. She couldn't continue to lie to her husband. But every time she tried to make it better with him, she felt immense discomfort and the desire to push him away, to run to Sharon. And that was exactly what she had done the night before. She'd run to Sharon.

Setting the phone down on the kitchen counter, Brenda downed the rest of her wine and moved to the bathroom. She was going to draw herself a bath and think – something she'd been doing a lot of lately with no case load, no badge, and no work.

…

"Brenda Leigh?" Fritz stepped inside the door and bent down to take off his shoes. "Brenda?" He called out again when he didn't get an answer. He'd seen her car in the driveway and as he walked in to the kitchen, he noticed her cell phone sitting on the counter.

"Brenda?" He inquired again, walking towards the bedroom. He figured she was asleep, but he quickly found she wasn't on the bed.

"I'm in the bathtub, Fritz." He heard her call through the closed bathroom door.

"Oh, well I'm home. Do you want me to order Chinese?" He inquired through the door.

"Oh, yes that sounds wonderful, Fritzy."

He nodded and went back in to the kitchen, placing Brenda's wine glass in the sink before turning to stare at her phone.

Curiosity overtook him. He picked the object up, glancing over his shoulder as if Brenda might be finished with her bath so quickly. Though she wasn't standing there. And her phone was never locked.

Fritz slid the device open and immediately it went to her text messages.

He was surprised to find Captain Raydor at the top of the list of texts. He could see the message displayed beneath her name.

'I don't know.'

Frowning, Fritz hit enter and moved through their conversation, his heart sinking when he read a text that Brenda had written. 'I can't stop thinking about you.'

What? What was this? He though Brenda hated Captain Raydor. Raydor the bitch. Raydor the witch. Raydor?

"Make sure you order the happy family, Fritz!" Brenda called from the bathroom. "I'm starvin'."

"I think I need to go…"

"Go where?" Brenda was out of the bathtub. He heard the door open.

"A meeting." He whispered under his breath, closing the phone and placing it back on the counter where it had been.

"What…what happened?" Brenda called.

"Nothing, well, I just got a call. I have to go in. Sorry, Brenda." Fritz moved in to the bedroom. "I'm sorry, I have to go."

"Oh, well…that's all right." Brenda was naked and toweling off her hair. She looked stunningly gorgeous. But he no longer felt drawn to her as he once had. "I wish I had a case."

"Well, they're getting closer, I hope. You should have your badge back soon, in any case." Fritz shrugged. "I'll see you when I get home."

"Okay." Brenda nodded and went back in to the bathroom, as if everything was fine, as if she hadn't told Sharon Raydor that she couldn't stop thinking about her.

He turned and went to put back on his shoes, leaving quickly. He needed a meeting or he might do something stupid.

…

Brenda's foot tapped impatiently on the floor beneath the table. She could feel Sharon's presence beside her, could sense her own anxiety echoed in the oddly calm exterior of the Captain.

"You've retested on your service weapon?" The DA flipped through her files.

"Yes," Brenda impatiently recrossed her legs, her foot sliding against Sharon's leg on accident. Sharon didn't flinch.

"And you've visited with the psychologist?" The DA was an attractive enough woman, but she was also intimidating. She could keep Brenda from returning to her work, her job, her life.

"I have." Brenda nodded.

The DA slid her hand through her hair, flipping through more of the paperwork. "She followed procedure?" Her brown eyes that could rival Brenda's own, burned in to Sharon's. Brenda glanced between the two of them, a fleeting pang of jealousy flickering through her body as she had to wonder if Sharon had slept with this woman. How many women, exactly, had she slept with?

"She did. I have reports from not only her, but those that were on the scene. They're in that file." Sharon, unruffled, met the DA's eyes. Maybe they hadn't slept together.

Oh, what did it matter if Sharon had slept with her or not? Brenda was about to hear if she got her job back. That was her focus; that was what she cared about. Wasn't it?

"Yes, I got that." The DA looked back down. "I see no reason why she shouldn't be allowed back on to the force. I believe, Deputy Chief Johnson, you can have your badge back." Closing the file she gave Brenda a quick smile.

So that was that. She was getting her badge and her gun back. A wave of relief washed over her.

She found herself getting up, shaking the DA's hand before following Sharon out of the room. "Thank you," Brenda whispered, walking quickly to catch up with Sharon.

"I was just following protocol." Sharon shrugged and pressed the up button. "I have your badge and gun in my office."

Brenda smiled and stepped in to the crowded elevator beside Sharon. They had to push their way in to the small space, their bodies practically forced together. Facing one another, Brenda was required to look straight in to smoldering green eyes – which, in turn, quickly looked away from her own. They tried to keep a professional distance, but someone kept pushing in to Sharon, causing their bodies to collide. The spark that raced through Brenda's body was surprisingly intense.

She was glad when the doors opened on FID's floor. Sharon quickly turned, making a beeline out of the compressed space and swiftly down the hall. Brenda tried her best to not appreciate the sway of her hips as she walked. She wondered where this fascination with women had come from.

Stepping in to Sharon's office behind her, Brenda was not expecting to have the door close behind her, or Sharon's lips to pin her against the door. The kiss was heated, needy perhaps.

Getting a hold of herself, Sharon broke the contact, straightened out her jacket, and walked behind her desk. Pulling open a drawer, she removed a plastic bag with Brenda's name printed on the top. "Badge." Reaching in to the same drawer she pulled out another bag. "Gun."

"Are we pretendin' like that kiss didn't happen?" Brenda opened the bag and pulled out her badge.

"I think it'd be wise." Sharon settled down behind her desk, opening a file.

"I want to kiss you." Brenda opened her gun, pulling it out in its hoister.

"I know," Sharon opened her laptop.

"When can we see one another again?" Brenda leaned down on Sharon's desk, making the brunette look at her.

Sharon took off her glasses and rubbed her forehead. "Brenda, we should not discuss this _here_." She snapped.

Brenda rolled her eyes. "Okay, all right. Thank you for my gun and badge." She shook her head and turned, moving towards the door. Before opening it and leaving, however, she turned back to look at Sharon. "And now that I have this back, I will be investigatin' Mitchell Donovan."

"Chief Johnson, I would _highly_ recommend that you leave it alone." Sharon glared up at her.

"I don't like it when someone is hurtin' a person I care about." Brenda placed her gun in her purse and returned the glare before turning to leave, knowing that Sharon couldn't continue the conversation when her own bull pen was swarming with activity.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

It took Brenda a day and a half to re-acclimate to working. She would have thought she could walk right in and get right back to business, but the shock of the shooting seemed to stay with her. She was cautious, preferring to stick to the office when she could. Luckily for her, Major Crimes was pinned with mindless cases which included a few interviews, nothing too intense.

Brenda found she was comfortable riding suspects, her confidence growing with each person she questioned.

She was feeling empowered by the end of the second day, and instead of going home to celebrate with Fritzy, she found herself driving down Sharon's road.

The lights were on inside her bungalow. She was home.

Brenda parked her car and stepped out, her body tingling with want. It had been two days since they'd seen one another, since the last time they'd talked in person. Of course there had been the sporadic texts now and again, but Brenda missed Sharon's physical presence.

Knowing she was about to see the woman face to face made her heart beat faster, her chest to tighten in a most pleasurable way.

She rang the doorbell and shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. She was much more nervous than she had been the first time she'd been in Sharon's home. This second time meant it was more than a onetime slip-up, this was deliberate, this was cheating on Fritz, this was acknowledging that she wanted Sharon Raydor.

She heard footsteps padding towards the door, the lock sliding open, the smell of cigarette smoke escaping as the door opened – just as it had all played out several nights before. But as the door came open to reveal Sharon, Brenda sensed something was different.

The woman before her was in a button-up men's shirt, her hair was messy a top her head, her make-up smeared, her feet and legs bare, her cheeks were flushed.

"What are you doing here?" Sharon's brow creased, her arms moving to wrap the shirt tightly around her small frame.

"What are…" Sharon tried to block the entrance to her home, but Brenda pushed her way inside, glancing in to the living room.

_He _was standing there. Naked. With a pillow pressed to his mid-section.

"You're…you're sleepin' with him?" Brenda was baffled. She had thought…she hadn't…but then she supposed she'd known. Of course. Of course she was.

Sharon grabbed her arm, pushing her against the wall. "It's not like that, Brenda Leigh." Her voice was low, green eyes searching, trying to get Brenda to look at her. "It's not like that."

"It certainly looks like you're…you're fuckin' him." Brenda twisted out of Sharon's grasp. "Get off-a me." Brenda felt tears burning at the back of eyes. "How could you…how could…but he's an asshole!" Brenda spat, her eyes finally meeting Sharon's.

"It's fucking messed up, but please…I didn't want you to…I didn't mean for you…shit, shit, shit." Sharon pressed herself against the hallway wall, wrapping her arms around herself.

"Oh come on Sharon, aren't you going to fight for her a little harder than that?" Mitchell had pulled on a pair of shorts and was lighting up a cigarette. He seemed unphased by Brenda's presence. "Is this the woman you've been fucking?"

Sharon closed her eyes and looked away from him.

"I see, and nice to see you again, Brenda." He coolly smiled at her, keeping a considerable distance from the two women. "I guess you can see Sharon's true colors now. She's not so nice, is she?" He puffed on the cigarette.

"Shit," Sharon just kept cursing, unable to look at Mitchell or Brenda.

Brenda felt glued to the spot. She wanted to punch Mitchell. He was being a complete asshole, but she also wanted to shake Sharon. This made no sense. She'd lost her sense.

"I…I think I should go." Brenda wiped at her cheeks and turned.

Sharon caught her arm. "Please, don't…please don't go. Brenda…please."

Brenda shrugged her off and stepped out the front door. She couldn't make sense of the situation; she couldn't understand how Sharon could possibly be sleeping with that horrible, horrible man.

Brenda got in to her car and wiped furiously at her eyes. This was not how she'd envisioned her evening going. Now she was supposed to go home and pretend as if nothing happened. How was she going to do that?

…

Sharon collapsed against the wall, sliding down in to a seated position. There were no tears. It was the strangest thing, but she seemed unable to cry in front of people.

"That was pathetic." Mitchell had returned from the kitchen with a beer in hand.

"I want you to leave." Her voice was shaky, not her own. She was surprised by how hollow it sounded.

"Oh come on, you don't want to fuck your superior officer. She's married, isn't she? To that Agent Howard?" Mitchell took a drag of his cigarette and moved closer to Sharon, kicking her leg.

"Ouch," she glared up at him. "I told you to leave."

"I don't think you really want me to leave. Come on; let's finish what we were doing before that annoying blonde showed up." He reached out for her, but she just curled herself tighter in to a ball.

"Get the fuck out of my house." She repeated.

"What, are you gonna call the cops on me? I'm a fucking DA. Like they'd listen to you." He arrogantly shrugged.

"I will call the cops if you don't get out of my fucking house." Sharon's voice was growing in intensity. She found her feet again, using the wall to pull herself up.

"I'd think about the way you're talking to me," Mitchell stepped threateningly close to her, pinning her against the wall.

"Get away." Sharon pushed at him, but he didn't move. "I swear to God, Mitchell, I have a gun."

"Oh, you're going to shoot me? That'd go over _real_ well in court, wouldn't it?" But he stepped away.

"Get out of my house." Sharon reached for the open door, pulling it open wider. She reached for his keys that were on the table in the entry way. She tossed them out the door, took the beer and cigarette from him, and then shoved him towards the door.

He grabbed her wrists, causing the beer to spill all over the front entryway. "Fuck you! Fuck you!" Sharon hit at him. "Get the fuck out!"

"I don't get my clothes? Oh come on," but she had him half way out the door. "Fuck you, Sharon."

She closed and locked the door behind him and then looked down to find that her foot was bleeding from running in to the glass of the beer bottle. "Fuck."

She sat down on the ground in a clear spot and picked up her foot, inspecting it for shards of glass. She picked the pieces out and then crawled to the bathroom in her entryway, pulling a wad of toilet paper in to her hands. She wrapped her feet in the paper, rummaging through the drawers of the bathroom for some spare band-aids.

Her life was a fucking mess.

As soon as her foot was bandaged, she limped her way in to the kitchen and grabbed her cell phone. She knew she couldn't go after Brenda because she knew she would have gone home. Home meant she would be with Fritz. All Sharon could do was call her.

And that was exactly what she did. She called her. The first time she was unsurprised to find that the call went straight to voicemail.

The second call went to voicemail.

The third, the fourth, the fifth.

Climbing on to her couch, Sharon felt the onset of her tears beginning. "Shit, shit, shit, shit." She kept cursing, redialing Brenda's number over and over again.

She wasn't sure how long she sat there dialing Brenda's number, but sometime after eleven she finally gave up.

"I'm…so…fucked up." She breathed in to the receiver after the beep of the message machine. "I'm so sorry…I'm so fucked up." Her tears choked her up and she simply hung up the phone, throwing it across the room.

Cuddling in to a ball on her couch, Sharon cried in to her throw pillow, feeling sick to her stomach.

…

Brenda was beginning to feel awkward. Each time the phone rang, Fritz would glance over at her. "Sorry," she sheepishly whispered, sending the call to voicemail. "I keep gettin' work e-mails. I must've missed a lot when I was gone." She shrugged, and then turned back to the movie they were trying to watch. Except her mind was not on the movie. Not at all. Her mind was stuck back in Sharon Raydor's house, back to when Sharon had actually grabbed her and begged her not to leave.

"That's a lot of e-mails, Brenda Leigh," Fritz simply sipped his nightly cup of tea, and leaned back against the couch.

"I know it, Fritzy." She felt the phone vibrating again and quickly sent it to voicemail, pretending to check it as if it were an e-mail.

"Seriously, what is going on?" He glanced over at her.

"It's nothin' Fritz." Brenda innocently shrugged, glancing over at him. "It's nothin'. I can just…silence it." She powered her phone down and sat it on the coffee table, moving to snuggle in to Fritz's side. She could feel tears clouding her vision, but she fought _very_ hard to keep them from falling.

"Are you okay?" He asked, his strong hand sliding up and down her side.

She nodded against his stomach, not trusting her own voice.

"Are you doing okay with work?" He ran his fingers through her hair and she wanted to bat his hand away, she didn't want him to be touching her like Sharon did. But what could she have with Sharon? This was so fucked up.

Swallowing she nodded. "It's…it's good. I'm doin' fine."

"That's good." He leaned down and pressed his lips to her forehead. "Brenda?"

"Hmm?" She tried to make herself sound happy.

"I think we need to reconnect." He whispered, his hand trailing up her side.

She felt disgusting. "How would we…do you…"

"Sleep with me." He let his hand wrap around her stomach.

She bit her lip. Sleeping with Fritz was the last thing she wanted to do. "I…I can't tonight, Fritzy. Please…I'm sorry. Maybe tomorrow night?"

She felt his body stiffen against her.

His response came several minutes later. "I think I'm going to bed."

She nodded and moved away from him so that he could get up. "I'm sorry." She whispered, but he didn't respond as he made his way to the bedroom.

The tears came rolling down her cheeks then. Why couldn't she let him love her? Why were her thoughts perpetually stuck on the brunette who was only causing her pain?

Curiosity overtook her. She picked up her phone and powered it back on. She wondered if Fritz had seen who it really was. She wondered if he was at all suspicious of her behavior, of what had been happening. She felt horrible. She didn't want him involved in this horrible situation, yet he was.

She found she only had one voice message. It had been left at 11:16 PM.

She was weary of this message, weary of what Sharon might have said.

She almost wanted to just erase it. She didn't want to hear from the woman. She wasn't sure she could handle hearing her voice, hearing her broken, or upset, or begging. Her stomach churned, but she figured the sooner she got through it, the sooner she could delete it. Perhaps she could delete the message and then delete Sharon Raydor completely from her mind. If she could just forget her, perhaps she could salvage her once perfect, pristine marriage.

She wiped at her tears, pressing her phone to her ear.

_"I'm so fucked up…I'm sorry…I'm so fucked up."_

Muffled sobs could be heard before the phone went dead.

Brenda took in a shaky breath. Her heart constricted, worry, pain, want clenched her chest.

She wanted to strangle the woman, but at the same time she wanted to run to her, to hug her, to hold her, to tell her she didn't need Mitchell. But Brenda knew, almost better than anyone, that people were unchangeable. Sharon would have to get out of this mess on her own. It was probably better if Brenda stayed out of it.

Yet, all Brenda wanted to do was curl herself around the brunette and hold her until the sun came up. These horribly conflicting thoughts drove Brenda to reach for a pillow on the couch, curl her arms around it, and fall asleep teary eyed.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Sharon had taken the day off. She'd had to go to the doctor's office that morning to get her foot looked at. It was easy enough to explain off as a kitchen mishap. She'd dropped a bottle of wine; she'd accidentally stepped on some left over glass. Simple, easy, almost true.

The doctor instructed her to stay off her feet for at least three days and actually stitched up a bad tear. She winced and limped her way out of the office and carefully drove herself home. She wanted to pour herself a large glass of wine, cuddle up with a book and a cigarette, but she quickly realized it was too early for that.

So she settled for coffee, a cigarette, and a book and peacefully wasted the day away, working hard to _not_ think about the fact that Brenda Leigh Johnson had discovered her shameful fucking of her ex-husband.

Fuck.

Between finishing an entire series of books and trying to _not_ think about Brenda Leigh, Sharon missed the sunset entirely. It wasn't until she checked her phone that she realized it was nearly nine in the evening.

Putting down the last of her books and sipping the wine she'd paused to pour, finally, Sharon got up to go to the kitchen. She pulled out some noodles, vegetables, sauce, and shrimp and began boiling water. She realized she was hungry after nearly a day of not eating. She'd been too upset to eat. But having gotten lost in a fictional world, she no longer felt like herself. Her worries were far away, were left behind in the previous evening. She was an uncomplicated version of herself. She was _not_ thinking about being wrapped up in Brenda Leigh's arms while she slept.

"Shit," the water was boiling over. She reduced the heat and tossed in the noodles.

There was a knock on the front door.

"Well who is that?" Sharon whispered to herself, sticking the knife she'd just pulled out to cut vegetables with in to the cutting board.

She limped her way to the door, already sensing who it was.

"Why are you here?" She stuck her head out the door.

The door was roughly forced open, forcing Sharon in to the wall behind it.

"Shit," she cursed, not up for this tonight.

"You fucking dyke." He slammed the door shut behind him and leaned in to her.

"What's so wrong with that?" Sharon shifted, trying her hardest to keep herself off her stitched up foot.

"I don't think you've ever considered what this would mean for me." He slammed his fist against the wall. Sharon flinched.

"What, so your ex-wife likes women. So fucking what." She pushed at him, removing herself from his grasp. She could smell the alcohol on his breath; she knew he'd been drinking.

"It's an embarrassment. I mean, Christ, Sharon, do you think she really cares about you? She's fucking married." He staggered behind her as she limped back in to the kitchen. The noodles were boiling over. She rushed over to turn them off, but found her body behind pushed against the stove. Her hand collided with the heated top.

"Shit! You fuck, you just burned my hand!" She called out, slapping him in the face.

He grabbed her wrist and sent a rough backhand that made her feel as if her eye had fallen out. She clutched the bruised spot, tasting blood somewhere in the back of her throat.

"Don't touch me," he grabbed her shoulders and shook her.

"Let me go." Sharon pushed back at him, practically blind because she was quickly realizing she couldn't open her eye. He had never been this intense with her. Certainly he'd given her a black eye or two, but he'd never bloodied her up.

He grabbed her body, dragging her towards the living room. She fought him every step of the way, pushing at him, hitting at his chest. "Let me go, let me go, let me go! I am _not_ up for this tonight, Mitchell. Mitchell, let me go!" She cried, punching at his arms.

"You're making this _really _difficult." Mitchell hit her arms away, pinning her against the couch. "I think you just need to relax and remember what it's like to be with a real man."

"I do not need to remember what it's like to be with a real man." Sharon twisted her body, moving her legs up to hit him away, but he barred her with his body.

"Well, honey, I'm just going to remind you." He held her fast with one hand while unbuttoning his pants, tugging the zipper down. "Come on, Sharon, we were married. Remember how much fun we used to have."

"This is not fun, Mitchell. This is rape. You disgust me." She spit in his face.

"Nice, real nice." He rubbed off his face, wiping the spit on to her blouse.

"Get off of me," she begged, fighting him as he reached down to pull himself out.

"Shut up."

…

"Can you pass the soy sauce?" Brenda inquired, avoiding eye contact with Fritz.

Fritz wordlessly passed the bottle towards her then went back to swirling his noodles.

"Is somethin' wrong, Fritzy?" Brenda quietly inquired, her appetite lessening as each silent moment passed.

Fritz took another uninterested bite of his food and then sat his fork forceably down. "I don't know, Brenda. I wish you could tell me if something was wrong."

Brenda frowned. "What does that mean?" She stuck her fork in the take-out box and looked at her husband.

"What's been going on with you, Brenda Leigh? And don't say it was the shooting. Something was wrong before then, I just thought…I just…I thought we could work through whatever it was."

Brenda looked back at her take-out box, picking up the fork and mindlessly swirling noodles. "I don't know, Fritzy." She blandly stated.

"That's not…that's not very…"

They both heard the hesitant knock on the front door.

"Who is that?" Fritz immediately got up. "Are you expecting someone?"

"No, are you?" Brenda, glad for the welcomed distraction, hopped up and joined her husband as they made their way to the front door.

Fritz pulled it open and it took Brenda several minutes to figure out who the stoically quiet woman was standing on her front porch.

"Oh my…oh my God." Brenda finally gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. She was not prepared for this moment, she felt as if she'd lost all touch of reality. She could feel her husband at her side; she could feel the way he was looking between her and the badly beaten woman before them. She knew his thoughts, instinctively.

"I'm…I'm sorry for showing up like this." Sharon sputtered out.

"No, no, it's okay." Fritz reached for her, pulling her inside. He made a quick survey of the neighborhood, wondering if anyone had followed her here.

Brenda slowly came too, realizing that her husband was helping her lover to the couch, helping her sit down, going to the kitchen to retrieve ice, and all she could do was stand there in shock.

"I'll kill him. I'll kill that fuckin' bastard." Brenda finally gasped. She stepped in to her shoes, grabbing her bag and keys.

"Brenda," Sharon weakly called to her, but it was hardly enough to keep the determined woman from leaving.

Brenda raced out the door, her heart pounding in her ears. It was a good thing she'd done her research on Mitchell Donovan. She knew exactly where he lived.

…

"This looks really bad, Captain," Fritz was bending down in front of Sharon, helping her to press a sack of frozen peas to her eye, and in the other hand, wiping blood from her busted nose.

"Please," her voice came out slow and steady, "no need for formalities. Call me Sharon."

Fritz nodded, "okay, Sharon. I think we should take you to the hospital."

Sharon's brow creased. "No."

"No, this is a non-negotiable thing, Sharon. You're going to the hospital." Fritz held her good eye with a firm gaze. "And if you don't mind, I'm taking pictures."

"Oh God," Sharon gasped quietly. The tears had not come yet. She wasn't sure when they would come, but she was sure that once she wrapped her head around the situation there would be plenty.

"Let me get the camera and then we're going to the hospital." Fritz moved to rummage through the kitchen for the device. He returned quickly and took pictures of Sharon's face from both sides, her bruised wrists, her burnt hand, the marks on her throat, and she hesitantly complied to let him take pictures of her side and leg.

She did not protest when he led her to his car, nor did she fight him when he discreetly informed the on call nurse at the ER that they would need a rape kit. Instead, Sharon sat quietly in a little side room, closed off from the rest of the ER by a sliding door. She sat, staring blankly at the wall before her.

Fritz came to sit next to her, pulling out his phone to text Brenda. He knew she would be busy, but when she got done, she'd want to know where Sharon was.

Sharon shifted on the paper covered table, neither knowing exactly what to say to one another as they both waited for the doctor to arrive.

Fritz finally leaned back in his seat and glanced over at Sharon. "He deserves what he's getting." He quietly stated, glancing back down at his lap.

She just nodded.

"Do you love her?" Fritz acted particularly interested in his hands, unable to face her.

Sharon closed her eyes, the tears that had not yet come were suddenly present.

Fritz just nodded.

They sat like that for some time. The silence growing increasingly, and oddly loud until Sharon finally whispered, "Fritz."

"Hm?" He cocked his head, but didn't look at her. It wasn't as if she could look at him any way.

"Thank you for…for being here. I am," she paused to take a deep breath, "I am very sorry."

Fritz just nodded again. He shifted in the seat. "Do you think…do you think you'll be okay from here?" He asked, still unable to look at her.

She nodded her response.

"I think I need to go."

"Okay." She simply stated, watching as Fritz – a wonderful, generous, perfect man who completely deserved Brenda Leigh – walked towards the door. "I don't deserve her." She whispered, her voice caught in her tears.

Fritz paused, hand poised on the handle of the door. He turned, but kept his head bowed. "You do. And you have her, believe me." And with that he left.

…

Brenda was a hurried ball of blonde and bag as she flew in to the ER, tears clouding her vision as she demanded to know which room Sharon Raydor was in. The nurse hesitantly pointed it out after Brenda flashed her badge, claiming that she was part of an investigation.

Her heels clicked on the linoleum floor as she rounded the corner, still unprepared for the sight of Sharon Raydor, beaten and bloody in a hospital bed. She pulled open the door and stepped inside, feeling suddenly very out of place. Was she supposed to be here? Was she supposed to be at Sharon Raydor's bedside?

But she knew, above all else, that she wanted to be here.

"Go get Fritz." Sharon quietly whispered, her eyes unable to meet Brenda's.

"No." Brenda shook her head, moving in to the room. She grabbed the chair and dragged it to right beside Sharon's hospital bed. "Like fuck I will."

Sharon frowned at her – or as best she could frown with her face all bruised. "He really loves you."

"Shh," Brenda took Sharon's hand and pressed her lips to her bruised wrists.

Sharon closed her eyes and leaned back on to the hospital room pillow. "Take me home." She finally stated.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

The sun light streamed through the open slats of the window shades.

They found their bodies entwined together in a sea of skin and sheets, and hair, and nakedness. Green eyes steadily roamed brown, hesitance loaming in the shadowy recess of dark emerald. A hand swept away a strand of brown hair, lips leaning in to capture tentative lips.

Her fingers trailed over light blue skin, tenderly tracing the outline of what once had been black and red. Even the white of that eye was still peppered with pink.

Her lips, sore from an evening of biting and sucking, moved up to gently kiss the eye that grew less and less swollen with each day.

Reaching for the hand that was cautiously hiding beneath the sheets, she pulled it towards her mouth, kissing each healing burn line, pulling the older woman's index finger in to her mouth to suck on it. When brown eyes glanced up, she found watery green eyes staring back at her.

"Don't cry," Brenda whispered, tangling her fingers in silky strands of long brown hair, noticing the auburn hues the sunlight illuminated.

A hand caught her wrist, bringing it to soft lips, which pressed against her skin. "I'm not going to."

"Okay," Brenda stroked her hair and pulled her in for another kiss.

She supposed it should feel odd, lying here with Sharon Raydor, in a bed she had once shared with her soon to be ex-husband, though it wasn't. It felt comfortable, it felt right; it felt soothing, and lovely, and just how Brenda Leigh had always thought it should be with someone.

"I don't want to go today." Sharon reached for her glasses on the nightstand and then pulled herself in to a seated position, reaching for her phone. Scrolling through her e-mails, Brenda yawned and curled herself around the older woman.

"It'll feel nice to see 'em get what he deserves." Brenda pressed her lips to a bare breast.

Sharon wrapped her arm around Brenda, letting her fingers trail down the long expanse of her bare back. Sharon intently focused on her e-mail, not responding.

"You do want to see him behind bars for a long time, don't you?" Brenda glanced up at the beautiful woman she felt lucky to finally have freely in her bed.

Sharon sat her phone down and pulled off her glasses, tenderly wiping at her eye. "Logically, of course, I do. But we have a lot of history between us. A long, colored history."

"You'd never go back to him, would you?"

"Of course not." Sharon sniffed and pulled back on her glasses.

"Good, because I'd kinda, selfishly, like to keep you to myself." Brenda let her fingers trail down Sharon's bare chest, stopping to rub lightly over an erect nipple.

Sharon smiled, "I love you, Brenda Leigh."

Brenda, startled, sat up. "You…you do?"

Sharon let her fingers trail down soft, messy blonde curls, pulling the younger woman to her. "I do."

"I…I love you," Brenda whispered through kisses. "I love you so much."

Sharon smiled against her lips.

…

"This court finds the defendant, Mitchell Donovan, guilty of domestic violence. He will be sentenced to four years in the State Prison. No bail will be allowed. He will complete the 52 week domestic violence seminar, and he will pay a fine of $5,500, and he will not be allowed any contact with Sharon Raydor, or their children – Mackenzie Donovan and Jacob Donovan." The judge hit his gavel against the stand and then rose.

Sharon fought away the tears that were threatening to fall. She stood, as was necessary in a court of law, and watched the judge step off his podium. She silently thanked him. Her attorney shook her hand, and she avoided glancing over at Mitchell.

She knew he was being taken away in handcuffs, she knew he wanted her to acknowledge his presence, but she kept her eyes firmly on her attorney, and turned in the opposite direction to search for the reassurance of brown eyes.

She smiled, realizing that Brenda had taken a seat in the front row. Right next to Fritz.

Sharon stepped towards them, extending her hand in Fritz's direction. "Thank you."

He took her hand and nodded. "Don't worry about it." He gave her a quick smile, Brenda appearing at his side.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Brenda pulled Sharon in to an embrace.

Sharon shook her head. "It wasn't."

"Let me take you home." Brenda whispered.

Sharon nodded. Her attorney held out his hand, pointing her towards the exit. She smiled up at him as she passed by, reaching for Brenda's hand. The duo walked towards the exit of the court room.

Sharon felt a little peace of mind restored with each step she took.


End file.
